The Gasoline (to your lit match)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: After all, when had living ever really been easy?


**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This vampire!au was originally written as a brief little thing for "Operation Levity" on the Caryl tag. Seems like popular demand is a thing and people wanted to see it extended a bit. Set sometime after season four.

**Warnings:** Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, sexual undertones and mild sexual content, references to masturbation, could be considered dub-con, blood and character death (sorta). It is not implicitly stated – but heavily implied - that Carol knew what Daryl was previous to the events of this story.

**The Gasoline (to your lit match)**

"…Will it hurt?" she murmured, heart beat slow - lush and unsteady as he held her close. The harsh tang of spilled blood and tinted sweat hazed out into the backdrop, quick - _cloying_.

Distantly she was aware of the pain, of the throbbing burn that was steadily working its way from the bite on her forearm. Aware of the way he was nosing into her hair, his angry, frustrated tears trickling down her collarbone. Aware of the dilating pupils, of the furtive way he'd started licking at his lower lip - nervous - wanton -_ guilty_.

_She knew what he wanted._

Her blouse was freckled with red. Neither of them had seen the walker coming. Not even Daryl. The corner of her lip twitched, fighting a gurgle of amusement as the thought spread, fogging over in her mind's eye like two lovers clouding a pane of glass. Thickening the air with every exhale as some distant part of her confused pain with pleasure.

"Yes."

The honesty was reassuring - familiar. She was used to pain, used to life taking more than it gave. She looked up, catching the glint of his canines in the low light. She stared, unused to the sight of them unsheathed. _Such a pretty thing._

_Was it the blood? The anticipation? Or did he really want her like tha-_

"Carol, you don't have much time. You-you smell weak, unsteady. If we wait much longer I might not be able to-"

She closed her eyes. Letting the heat of the day beat down on her skin without filter. She felt cold, empty, like the sickness was coring her out from the inside. She could feel the muscles jumping underneath his skin – anticipatory and panicked. But still, she paused.

The gift he was offering was no small thing.

Forever wasn't something to be taken lightly.

But maybe that was the point.

_After all, when had living ever really been easy?_

"…I'm ready."

* * *

><p><em>She wasn't ready. <em>

Because he hadn't lied.

It_ did_ hurt.

And he hadn't waited.

She felt every second of it. The moment his canines broke skin. The stinging tart of the first pull. The hardness of him firming against her thigh as he rocked her close, nuzzling and growling as warm rivulets of her own red started streaming freely down her skin.

She wanted to die.

She wanted to live.

She wanted to light the entire world on fire just to make sense out of the ashes.

She wanted to scream.

To arch.

To crumble.

To fumble her way through an agonizing burst of ecstasy as he held her fast, pinning her down in favor of setting his teeth and swallowing noisily. Greedy and starved, like food and drink to a starving man. Just like he'd been the day she'd first caught him, bloody and shirtless in the half-light. Ripping into the neck of a dappled fawn, desperate and beyond shame in the lean months before the prison. Expression fierce and predatory – a far cry from the hedging uncertainty she was used to – as he'd stared boldly back. Watching her watch him as he swallowed throatily. Red rimmed eyes fixed on her face as he'd shuddered with the pleasure of it.

It was nothing like she'd imagined. Like she'd hoped. Like she'd caught herself imagining on the odd night when she had a moment to herself. Trying to picture it in the back of her mind as she imagined what it would be like. _What he would be like. _Leaving her with sticky fingers and a satisfied expression he'd probably been able to smell a mile away.

It was better.

Worse.

_Terrifying._

It was too much and not enough just as much as it was that indeterminable grey area that existed between. And in all honesty it shattered her just as thoroughly, forcing herself to dig her fingers deep into the dry Georgian dirt just to keep herself grounded.

She felt more than heard the noise that left her. A small pitching little mewl as he snapped the button on her jeans and found her center. Dirty fingers skating through her wetness as the world guttered itself on the seconds and opportunities that'd already passed them by.

_We can make new ones. _She realized, giddy and drunk with it as the idea swirled about in the air above her head, teasing her when she realized her arms were too heavy to lift in order to catch it. _We'll finally have time. _

She opened her mouth to tell him, but before she could he set his weeping wrist to her lips. Cutting a haunting figure in the backlit shadows as he chased her taste, the muscles in his back pulled taut as a crooked finger circled her clit. And suddenly, for the first time since all this had started - from the first news report, to the first time she'd seen them, staggering and moaning, blunt fingers trying to find purchase on the windshield as Ed cursed and hit the gas on their old station wagon - everything_ finally _made sense.

* * *

><p><span><strong>AN #1:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.


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